


The Mind Has Mountains

by Malfoysdarkness



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Almost Winter soldier au, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Erik Has Feelings, Erik has Issues, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Erik Lehnsherr, I Don't Even Know, M/M, More sad, Poor Erik, but not, cause its Erik, what do you expect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22744444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malfoysdarkness/pseuds/Malfoysdarkness
Summary: All Erik has known is the prison which he spent all his life. He is the only mutant known in existence, but he was captured. Now, he is a killing machine, existing only to reek destruction and death.That is, until, he escapes.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	1. Death Row

It was raining. 

Above all things, Erik hated the rain. It soaked through his skin, rinsing off the mud but replacing it with cold, chilling him to the bone. Rain was wet, painful like ice when it hit his shoulders. If Erik was weak, it shoved him to the ground like the force of a car slamming into his back. 

Of course, whenever he fell, he was pulled roughly to his feet, pushed to keep walking. Keep working. Keep training. It never stopped. Erik's day felt like a never-ending loop, never changing, never different. Wake up. Eat a meagre breakfast. Bathe in cold water. Work in the quarry for five hours. Water break. Work for another five hours. Meagre dinner. Spend rest of evening being tested on, blood taken, vitals checked. Eventually, sleep. 

It never changed. Shaw said the same things every evening. That Erik was a miracle, a gift from God himself. Something to protect, but also to understand. Erik wasn't normal. He knew no other prisoners were experimented on like he was, and knew why that was. 

Erik was special. He had powers. Powers Shaw could only dream of. He had kept Erik in his unpleasant clutches for years, since Erik was fourteen. After years of torment, just for Shaw's own research, Erik's powers barely worked anymore. He could hardly move a coin, let alone a gate or an entire room. He was weak, destroyed by his agony. 

Shaw liked to test Erik's reflexes by experimenting on him without any form of anesthesia. Erik screamed and screamed, begged to be knocked out, for it to stop, to breathe properly. He had writhed on the table, and in one instance, killed one of the doctors by turning their own scalpel on them. He hadn't realised, of course, but Shaw was pleased. 

Shaw was always pleased. He liked to see Erik's powers in play, a proper show, he thought it was. For Erik, it was torture. It hurt to use his powers, felt like the iron and steel was pushing through his own skin, something ugly threatening to come out. 

"Erik!" a familiar, dreadful voice rang out as the door to his cell opened. Erik squeezed his eyes shut, prayed for a miracle to happen, and sat up. Shaw was stood at his door, looking like he always did - as if he lived in a castle, rather than a prison. He beckoned to Erik with a finger, and Erik knew better than to disobey him. Slowly getting to his feet, feeling the cold tiles, Erik stepped over. He was almost taller than Shaw, but the man had so much hold over him, it was as if he was eight foot tall. 

"We have had a - development," Shaw smiled unpleasantly. Erik resisted the urge to shudder and silently followed, being every bit the good soldier. That's what he was, a soldier. He may not have fought wars, but he was being trained and shaped up to be the perfect killing machine. With or without his powers. 

Following Shaw into his office, the man sat down, but didn't make any move to let Erik sit. So Erik stood behind the chairs, hands behind his back, staring straight ahead. Shaw watched him for a moment, gaze scrutinising. 

"You're getting worn, Erik," he remarked. " _ Am enttäuschendsten," _ he sighed, giving a little shrug. Erik didn't dare even let his eyebrow twitch. Shaw saw everything. "Everything I built for you is crumbling. You are failing to reach my expectations." 

Closing his eyes for half a second, Erik tried to realise what that meant. He didn't understand. He was Shaw's pet, yes, but Erik's mind wasn't wired the way it used to be. He was a machine. A killing machine, built only to destroy. But now, he was afraid. Afraid that Shaw would abandon him. He knew nothing else. 

"So, what should I do about it?" he asked the room, although it was empty, and Erik would never dare reply to him. Tapping his fingers against his lips, Shaw contemplated for a while. The seconds drew on, feeling like millenia. The clock ticked on the desk, rain pattered endlessly on the window. Wherever they were, it never seemed to stop raining. 

"Oh! I know," Shaw's black eyes lit up behind his glasses. He straightened up. "I will find a replacement for you. You're too old, Erik. Your powers are failing, you're not strong enough." 

Although Erik didn't believe he was capable of feeling humanoid emotions, he felt a sharp pain in his chest, which faded to a dull, residual ache. Was this  _ hurt?  _ Was he hurt that Shaw was replacing him with a newer, shinier model? Or was Erik relieved? No, that wasn't it. If he was being replaced, that meant Erik's end was near. They couldn't keep him around. He was a robot to them. Worthless. Tossed away like scrap metal. 

But Shaw was smiling, almost looking gleeful. "Ah, yes. I had news of a different mutant. A female, with the power to change her appearance. Yes, she will be the new you, Erik." 

Stepping forward, Erik's whole body tensed as Shaw traced a line down his cheek. But there was nothing about the movement which suggested Shaw's sinister motives. It was if Erik was a doll, and Shaw was taking one last look before he was packed off to a new owner. Death. 

Unable to say a word, unable to protest, Erik was escorted from Shaw's office by several armed guards. Erik could take them both out in a heartbeat, but didn't. His head hung low and his shoulders slumped, a difference to his usual even stance. He knew he was walking to his death. What sort of a life had he had? Not one which deserved him going somewhere good. 

Unable to properly feel, Erik was numb as the guards let him take his overshirt from his cell, and eat the last of his breath. A last meal.

Erik didn't take his time. There was no point. He was going to his death, either way. He finished his food quickly and drank his water before letting the guards lead him out. Shrugging on his shirt, Erik didn't let himself look as he passed his inmates' cells. He could feel their eyes on him, silent and curious, but he couldn't bring himself to meet their gazes. He had never spoken to them anyway, but knew each of them by name. He had grown up with them, after all. 

Woolsey, who kept every single letter written to him by his family, and read them each night. Steele, who worked the hardest in the quarry, but was never respected for it. Rushk, who's fingers and arms were worn from overworked jail tattoos, but never failed to give the others his food, so they could have a little extra. Each one of them knew Erik, and he knew them. They were older than him, and their eyes felt like fire in his back as he walked past, flanked by guards. Did they know they would never see him again? Did they know he was going to die? 

Erik's footsteps stuttered as they entered the rainfall outside and he watched his feet carefully, trudging through the clay-like mud to the gates. Erik began to shiver, from fear or cold, he did not know. He dared a glance upwards, seeing the huge wrought-iron gates opening at the guard's command. He had never known them open before. Never known outside of those walls. 

Maybe he wasn't going to his death? Maybe they were setting him free? A small bundle of hope grew in Erik's chest, before it plummeted once again. A row of military was waiting for them. Each one of them held a sword, long and curved and deadly sharp. The prison guards shoved Erik forward and he stumbled onto the rain-soaked ground in front of the newcomers. They didn't move. Neither did he. Then, slowly, he straightened up, realising he was on his knees. A good way to die. Erik eyed the glistening blade less than a few inches from his nose, and let his eyes fall closed. 

"Please, God, let it be swift." 


	2. The Forest

One… Two… Three... Nothing. No swing of blade, no flash of pain. Nothing. Erik's fear of death had rose as he waited, his hands trembling, body shaking as he knelt on the ground. Instead of death greeting him, murmurs came from the military surrounding him. Confused voices in a language Erik did not understand. Erik didn't dare open his eyes. Not yet. His fingers clenched and a cry came from his left. The sound of metal grating against metal hit his ears with a painful screech. Erik's eyes opened wide. 

Around him, Erik realised, was a wall of barbed wire, hemming him in on all sides. As he trembled, the wire shook like an electrical force was being passed through it. The military men stared in fear and horror as they stumbled back, away from Erik. Their swords melted and their helmets bled silver. Erik wasn't sorry. He knew now that he was in control. He had this power. 

And what a power it was. 

Erik turned in a slow circle, taking in the shocked, pale faces of the men on the outside of the wire. Clenching his fists, the barbed wire loosened off, falling away, leaving no barrier between them. This was what Erik was built for. He was built to fight. To kill. He didn't need his powers for this. 

Letting out a cry, Erik surged forward. With his bare hands, he punched and tore and broke, cutting down everything in his path. Without even realising it, his gift came into play, wrapping the barbed wire around several men, with painful consequences. When they all lay dead, Erik breathed out. His hands stained red, running into the mud as the rain tracked lines down his face. 

"Is this what I am?" Erik breathed, his voice hoarse and unused. Taking a shaky step forward, he grasped one of the men's coats, pulling it off him and sliding round himself. The cold was seeping into his skin, making him shudder. If he was still alive now, he was going to make sure he stayed alive. 

With the swords melted and Erik not strong enough to build them back up again, he left them in the mud, instead picking up random scraps from the mens' uniforms. A badge, a pair of sturdy boots. A hat. All the perfect disguise to hide Erik as he escaped. 

It felt incredibly alien to him, walking away from the prison, where he had lived all his life. He didn't let himself look back, instead focusing on the dark forest ahead, which seemed to melt into the blackness, with sinister intent. Well, he'd gotten this far. Couldn't as well have gone back. 

Shaw didn't want him anymore, and Erik barely knew what he would do without the man's guidance. Yes, he had been abused, experimented on, tortured. But he also remembered Shaw reading to him at night, even doing different voices for all the characters. Yes, it may have been many, many years ago, but Erik held onto that memory. It was the only one he had that was vaguely normal for a young boy. 

Feet itching in the strange boots, Erik walked through the forest, feeling his fear ebb away the further he got from the prison. From his past. A slight edge of excitement gripped him instead. A feeling he had never experienced before. He quickened his pace, stepping over sticks and fallen branches, making his way through the thick wood. Here, the rain turned to snow, and soon Erik's boots were crunching over the stuff.

Only once did he remember snow at the prison. He had been allowed out at night in the courtyard, feeling the snowflakes melt on his arms and tongue, only to be pulled inside again, a few moments later. He was confined to simply watching it from his cell, but nothing beat walking through it now. 

The forest was eerily silent, save for the occasional creak of a tree or the fluttering of a bird's wing. Nothing spoke, nothing whispered. Erik felt free to walk as long as he chose, his fingertips ghosting along the bark of each tree as he moved past. Occasionally, Erik noticed a fox or rabbit sneaking on the borders of his eyesight, but they were gone before he could spot them properly. The knowledge that he wasn't entirely alone in the deep woods seemed to calm Erik, his shoulders ceasing to remain tensed, fingers unclenching from his palms. He began to properly enjoy it, taking in every branch, every twig, every animal he saw. It was astonishing what one could see with entirely fresh eyes. The pure beauty of the world. 

For the first time, Erik felt safe. The woods couldn't hurt him, nor could Shaw. Not anymore. He was safe from everything. Slumping down against the trunk of a large oak, Erik let his eyes fall closed. Wrapping his coat tighter around him, Erik let the stillness of the forest lull him into sleep. It was late, and Erik needed his strength. 


	3. Charles

"Is he dead?" 

"No, he's breathing." 

"He's as cold as anything." 

"No wonder! Here, give me your blanket." 

Erik awoke to voices surrounding him. Not the harsh language of the prison guards, no, but a softer tone, more soothing. Opening his eyes, Erik came face to face with someone that took his breath away. The boy looked young, most likely in his early twenties. Crystal blue eyes, blood red lips, dark, wavy hair. The perfect picture of a fairytale. Just like the one Shaw had read to him, all those years ago. The boy smiled at him, cheeks pink from the cold. 

"Oh! You're awake. Good. We were worried we'd have to haul you back to town," he gave a shrill, merry sound, which Erik took a moment to realise was a laugh. Seeing another boy standing slightly behind the first one, looking more reserved and cautious, Erik sat up. He took the small cup of broth the boy held out to him, without murmuring a thank you. He didn't know how. He simply drank the broth, feeling the warmth fill his chest, making him feel more alive than he ever really had. At the prison, the food was always cold and tasted mildly of chalk. 

"What are you doing so far out here?" the red-lipped boy asked curiously, his eyes too bright for Erik to look at him properly. Erik didn't speak, didn't dare open his mouth. He finished the broth and silently held the cup back out to him. The boy took it, with a little sigh of resignation. 

"Well, now you're awake, we can take you back to the village. Come on!" 

Helping Erik to his feet, their hands brushed together and Erik felt a spark of static electricity. The boy jumped in surprise and Erik bit back the sudden urge to turn the metal cup into a flat disk. Brushing it off as 'merely after-effects from the storm', the boy led the way through the trees. What Erik hadn't realised in his daze the night before, was that he was almost at the edge of the forest. The trees had thinned out, and the snow on the ground was more prominent. Walking in step with the other, cautious boy, Erik watched the ground, almost hoping he would speak, to end the silence. 

"I'm Hank," the boy said. Thank god. "And that is Charles," he gestured to red-lipped boy, who was leading the way with a determined stride, despite his heavy boots and fur coat. Hank looked inquisitively at Erik, but the man didn't give his name. Instead, he pushed up the sleeve of his stolen military coat and showed Hank the small line of tattooed numbers on his forearm. Hank stared.

"You're from Shaw's prison?" he breathed, glancing around worriedly, if the man had crows for spies. "I heard he keeps men like animals, experimenting on them for inhumane reasons." 

Erik didn't say a word. He kept his gaze on the floor, his feet scuffing the ground painfully in the borrowed boots, which were a couple of sizes too big. 

"Alright, keep your secrets," Hank huffed after another bout of silence from Erik. The man glanced at him, and simply replied with a small, wry smile. Surprised, Hank stumbled over a tree root and went sprawling onto the ground. Charles ran back over and helped Hank up, looking curiously at the both of them. Hank shrugged, brushing the snow from his coat. He didn't mention it, so Charles didn't ask. Instead, Charles looked at Erik. 

"They don't like newcomers in town, so put this on," Charles pressed a hat into Erik's hand, and the man gazed at it for a moment, bewildered, before he pushed it onto his head. It was warmer than his military hat and hereby decided never to take it off. Charles gave him a smile that could melt even Shaw's facade, before leading them through the town gates. It was a large, thriving village, but Charles and Hank appeared to know exactly where to go. 

They walked down lane after lane, snaking around houses and shops with so much speed that Erik almost got dizzy. He would have gotten lost easily, but Charles and Hank never did. They eventually stopped outside of a large courthouse building, knocking twice on the door. 

A small slot in the door opened and a pair of eyes peered out. They narrowed as they saw Charles, but the door opened to reveal a small, thin man. 

"Mr Xavier, your father explicitly stated that you shouldn't go out alone." 

Charles gave the man a sunny smile, which Erik knew could destroy the snow in one heartbeat. 

"I'm sorry, Caliban. But I'm not alone!" he gestured to Hank. Caliban looked even less pleased. Erik would have been amused, but he was afraid to even move his mouth. He had restricted and hidden his own emotions to the point of complete apathy. 

"So if you'd excuse me," Charles continued, voice clear as a bell. "Hank and I have some business with my father."

With that, Charles grabbed Erik's wrist and tugged him up the steps into the house. Barely registering the touch to his wrist, Erik breathed in sharply as they entered the building. The heat and warmth hit him like an oncoming storm, almost overwhelming him. Charles didn't seem to notice, only shrugging off his jacket, which Caliban then took from him, muttering under his breath. Nothing, it seemed, could dampen Charles' smile. 

"This way!" he sang, leading Erik and Hank up a set of wide stairs, the walls planked with wood, making the house feel comfortable and soothing. Fires were lit in every wall sconce and their heat flared against his face each time Erik walked past one. He caught Hank's gaze, and the boy gave him a crooked smile and a half shrug. Erik didn't know what that meant. 

"Father, I need to speak to you," Charles' voice echoed back to them, as he entered a wide room with books covering every wall. An elderly man looked up from a book of his own and Erik felt like his blood had turned to ice. 

_ Stryker?  _


	4. Stryker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this isn't as long, I was so exhausted today!

_ "Don't be afraid, Erik. This is my dear friend. He has just come to check on your progress." _

_ Erik didn't like the man who entered his cell like a skulking animal, watching its prey. Erik was the prey. He cowered slightly, covering his face with his arms in hopes of hiding from the newcomer. No use. The man simply pulled his arms away, and Erik blinked, but knew better than to protest.  _

_ William Stryker had a face like a bulldog and breath to match. Erik could smell it as the man leant in close, inspecting Erik. Erik didn't like the way the man looked at him, as if he was some kind of painting on a wall, to be looked at but never given a life of its own.  _

_ "He's marvelous, Sebastian," Stryker congratulated Shaw, patting his back once he'd straightened up. Once the man was further away, Erik allowed himself to breathe again, shoulders relaxing just slightly. "How much do you want for him?"  _

_ Shaw smiled. "Oh, my friend, he isn't for sale. I simply wanted you to see my magnificence. He will be the perfect weapon, once he is old enough."  _

_ Unfortunately for Shaw, Erik had apparently never been old enough to work for Stryker, as his powers disrupted most of his training. That resulted in a punishment, of course. His powers weakened to the point of non-existence, which made Shaw very disappointed. Erik was never exactly certain what the man wanted from him.  _

Erik had almost completely forgotten Stryker, until that moment. The man stood before him, older and weathered, but still the same man. The same bulldog face. How could he be Charles' father? They were not one jot alike. 

"What is this, Charles? Why are you interrupting my reading?" the man spoke sharply. Yes, there was no doubt it was Stryker. Erik closed his eyes and turned his face slightly away, hoping from his age that the man wouldn't recognise him. Erik knew Hank's eyes were burning into him, but he couldn't look up. Not at that man.

"Its an emergency, father," Charles stepped forward, grasping Stryker's hands. "This man, we found him in the woods. He was starving, he looked like he'd been there for days." 

They all turned and Erik kept his gaze on the floor, tracing the patterns in the wood grain with his eyes. He wouldn't give Stryker a chance to recognise him. Heavy footfalls came closer and Erik flinched as the man touched his shoulder. 

"Where did you come from, boy?" 

Silence. 

"What village are you from? What city?" 

Silence. 

Charles walked forward. "Father, he hasn't spoken a word since we found him." 

"Are you a mute, then?" Stryker gave Erik's shoulder a little shake. Erik shook his head, fighting his fear. 

"Well then, if you're not a mute, why won't you talk?" 

Out of the corner of his eye, Erik could see Charles nibbling his bright red lip. Erik  _ could  _ talk. He  _ could  _ show Stryker. Taking a small step back, Erik took a large breath, preparing to speak. But no sound came out. He couldn't. He had been frightened into permanent silence by Shaw's experiments, fearing more if he opened his mouth. 

Stryker watched him expectantly, before sighing and letting go of his shoulder, making Erik relax visibly. "Well, you can't stay here if you don't tell us who you are." 

Charles shook his head. "Please, father. Just one night. Look at him, he's almost dead on his feet! You can't throw him out. He can stay in my room!" 

Stryker turned back so fast, Erik took a step back, almost bumping into Hank. "He will do no such thing! What if he is a thief? A murderer?" 

Erik saw blood on his hands once again and closed his eyes tight.  _ You didn't kill them _ . He had to tell himself, even if he was lying. Else he would go mad. 

Charles was just as stubborn as his father, it seemed. "Then I will take my knife and hide my prized possessions! You cannot stop me, father. He is staying."

On that final deciding note, Charles turned and stalked to the door. Erik watched him go, before Charles' hand whipped out and grabbed Erik's wrist, dragging him out of the door. 


End file.
